Tuesday, January 25, 2011
9:40 PM ● 200

wow. two-hundred posts of complete shit. thank god no one reads this otherwise i'd have to put something of content here and well, let's all face facts-- that's not going to happen.

school is going so well, i could write a fucking sonnet on it. having classes monday/wednesday only is invigorating. i've taken up yoga, or at the least yoga contemplation, again. i'm reconnecting with my bestest friend of best friend town because we're there at the same time and take the bus home together like some ghetto version of the girls from clueless.
i get to work more often, which is going to help pay for my completely frivolous trip to nyc, which is costing me an arm and a fucking kidney on the black market. i think it would be cheaper to get rhinoplasty, but with less recovery time.
can i just rant for a second about how nyc city/state tax is something like 14.75%?! what the fuck, america!? no wonder you have such a high employed homeless rate. no wonder nyc is a slum. IT'S FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE TO LIVE THERE. why the high taxes, hrm? amazing city? amazing officials? WAS THAT MAYOR JULIANI?! rudy, you bitch, if you're the reason for this insane tax i'll personally do old nyc a favor and have you 'dealt with'.
okay. rant complete.

the only thing going wrong for me right now is this sonuvabitch. tonight i'm going to call him douche-dinktoucher-rat masturbator because that about sums up my 'love' for this gentleman right now.
long story short, we know each other. personally. like in the biblical sense.
anyhow, he zigged, i fucking doodled all over the page like a flowery ninth grader and we met in this impasse known as 'i won't sleep with you anymore.' even though that's what i want, and he wants, i'm witholding the uh, prize? because he won't fucking commit. maybe it's because i haven't given him a reason to commit, or he's just a sac-less drifter who can't man up and have it one way and not the other. or he really doesn't want a relationship with me, or with another woman because he's turned gay in the buttsecks way and the less happy way. it's only gay if you get wood, right?
fuck.
so here i am at the three months mark, which by the way is his quarterly 'dole' time, and have been getting ever increasingly creative texts asking me for the inevitable.
one: i'm fcking with him for the sake of fcking with him.
two: his biological timing is impeccable.
three: FUCK SHOES.

sleeping with him would only buy me another three months of silence, which i've come to enjoy. oh yes! i forgot! when sir-fucks-his-hand isn't busy hitting me up for some rub and tug, he's oddly absent. granted, i've been known to initiate the conversation after some libations at my local wateringhole starting with the obvious 'lets do it in the road'. he's yet to figure out that i'm just singing beatles lyrics to him. but when i'm not drunkenly booty-calling him, his end of this 'deal'; the plug to my socket as it were, is conveniently absent. is he getting it elsewhere, and is striking out therefore he must come to me? or is he really just waiting for me?

this right here... this is why women hate men. men are not intentionally playing mind games with us and we go off the fucking handle assuming that he's playing mind games when really he just wants you to blow him on the regular, but hopes you don't mind that he's still actively looking for the girl that will both blow his dick and his mind. get his rocks off and rock his socks off, if you will.

i can't help but get a little testy when i get these innocuous texts asking me how i am from this person. they seem so innane, so banal that i get lured into this dick trap all the time (not booby trap, since i set those. with my tits) and then have to dig myself out of an expected roll in the hay situation.
WHY CAN'T YOU TAKE ME TO DINNER YOU FUCK?

i'd put out for some mushroom ravioli.
you can quote me on that, motherfucker.

xxxxxx

(live)